


beneath a moonlit sky

by politicalmamaduck



Category: Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, I Can't Believe This Title Hasn't Been Used Yet, No Pregnancy, Oral Sex, Safe to Read if You're Triggered by Pregnancy, Short One Shot, Song Lyrics, The Author Regrets Nothing, gratuitous lyric references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:46:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23894788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/politicalmamaduck/pseuds/politicalmamaduck
Summary: She was the music, and the music was hers. He was the music, and she was his.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28





	beneath a moonlit sky

Her voice rang out through the theatre, as clear as a church bell calling the faithful to pray over the mountains.

Those ravishing refrains sang through her veins, making her feel alive once more. So long had she dwelt in the darkness, bereft of her greatest gift, her greatest skill, her deepest passion. 

She was the music, and the music was hers. He was the music, and she was his. 

She felt it in her soul and let it pour out through her voice, the emotion evident in every line as she built upwards towards the crescendo until the final note sounded. 

She felt in a daze as she walked off stage, hardly knowing how she walked back to her dressing room. It seemed to her that she floated rather than walked, buoyed by the still-roaring crowd and the adrenaline causing her heart to beat rapidly. 

And then he was there, sweeping her off her feet with the glory of their triumph.

“It was beautiful,” she practically wept. “Your song was beautiful, and I felt beautiful.”

She hadn’t felt beautiful in so long. It had been so long since she sang, truly sang, with all her heart, with a crowd there to adore her and leap to their feet throughout the theatre. 

They kissed, and the world melted away for just a moment, as it always seemed to when she was in his presence.

And then she caught sight of the rose and letter on her dressing table, and the world shattered, altogether too real, too present, too human for the ethereal music she had just been singing and the kiss she had just shared. 

She read the letter aloud, unsure of what she would find within its words. It was so unlike the music she trusted, where she always knew to expect from each note, each line. 

Christine did not regret that this was the end of their relationship. She regretted what their relationship had become, the secrets she had kept from Raoul. Raoul had begged her to leave, to not sing the song...

 _Hearts may get broken, love endures_. The words seemed even more prescient now, as if he had known what would happen. 

Neither of them could have known. 

She didn’t know where her son was. Gustave was meant to be there, meant to wait for her with Raoul. 

“Gustave--” she began, but he caught her hand and kissed it once more.

“He’s safe, sound asleep in his room,” he said. 

“Come, my love. Let us go home.”

 _Home_ , she thought. Had her home ever been anywhere other than the stage?

They would build their home, a true home, together. One where Gustave would be safe and happy. Filled with music and light and laughter. 

Her son looked like an angel, sound asleep in his bed. She did not touch him, for fear of waking him, but merely breathed a sigh of relief before she returned to her lover’s arms. 

She allowed herself to sink into his embrace, to pull his lips down to hers once more. 

He was strong, so strong, lifting her up as if she weighed nothing to carry her to her--their--bedroom. 

She felt beautiful, oh so beautiful, as he helped her remove the intricately beaded dress. He stood behind her, his hands soft yet strong, undoing each button with care. 

She looked up and out the glass balcony doors while he attended to her dress, entranced by the full moon. 

The first time they had done this, there had been no moon. She could not say how he had been able to help her out of her dress in the utter blackness of the night, nor could she remember, so intense their passion had been. 

She closed her eyes, and surrendered to the music of the night. 

Her dress fell to the floor, and though she still wore her undergarments, her soul was as bare as her arms. 

He kissed her neck, her shoulders, traced her arms before beginning to unlace her corset. She was relaxed, giving in to her body’s sensation, to the feel of his fingers on her bare flesh, but her heart was racing in anticipation. 

Her corset fell to the floor with her dress, and his hands cupped her breasts, stroking softly yet firmly. 

She moaned, and he kissed her neck once more. She reached her arms up to pull him down for a proper kiss, then turned herself around to face him, to help him undress and take care of him the way he had taken care of her. 

She untied his cape, allowing it to sink to the floor in a dark satin wave, reflecting the moonlight. He towered over her; he had always been so tall, but she had never paid it much mind before. 

She untied his cravat and began to unbutton his shirt, when his hands clasped hers. 

“My Christine,” he began, but she stole his lips for another kiss. 

“My love,” he whispered against her hair, pulling her close to him. He took her up in his arms once more, then laid her down on the bed.

He gently slid her drawers off, caressing her legs as he went. He kissed his way back up, from her ankles to the apex of her thighs. 

His hands paused there for a moment, just a moment, and Christine thought she would die for love, from anticipation, from the joy and the adrenaline still coursing through her veins like an orchestra playing a symphony only they could hear. 

He circled her clit with his index finger, and she gasped. He knelt between her legs, kissing and licking and sucking, making her mad with desire. 

She could not think, could barely breathe, could only utter “please,” begging him for more of that exquisite pleasure turning her body into an instrument only he could play. 

She was on fire, the sensations building to a crescendo. She reached for him, and he clasped his hand in hers. She squeezed it tightly, clinging to him as if he were her only anchor to this life.

She came with a gasp, her right hand still in his left while her left hand clawed at the sheets. 

She sat up, though her legs felt like molten gold, to help him finish undressing, so they could be one, body and soul, once more. 

He looked at her as if she were the only person in the world he had ever loved, so young and innocent in the moonlight. He had once called light cold and unfeeling, but in that moment, it was warm and illuminating. 

Their clothing was strewn about the floor, pools of black and white and deep indigo, when she reached for his mask with trembling fingers. That unfeeling scrap of clothing was the last to join the piles on the floor before they kissed once more. 

“My Erik,” she said, stroking his cheek before running her hands down his chest. 

Their bodies entwined, defenseless and silent, a woman and a man, no more and yet no less. 

The world fell away around them, and there was only Christine and Erik, lovers beneath a moonlit night.

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to my bestie Amanda for her beta help and support. Please leave a comment with your thoughts and come find me on Tumblr and Twitter!


End file.
